Addicted to Staying
by rry
Summary: Mark leaves for rehab, leaving Roger and everyone else in grief. He does write though. cutter!mark eventual RogerxMark slash [sorry to those that don't like it, but ya gotta deal, and you don't have to read it]
1. One

I laugh quietly to myself as I look my closet. Every shirt I own is a long selved one. No one's ever noticed that though, never noticed my own addiction, or addiction_s_, either.

I've always believed that everyone has their own addiction. Some even so small and petty that they go unnoticed. So I guess that you could call it a habit. But then again, isn't the definition of a habit something done all the time? And it also does say that the slang term for a habit is an addiction.

So my biggest habit is as bad as Roger's or Mimi's or Collin's. Or perhaps its worse, one slip of the hand and I'm dead. With them it's as simple an overdose.

I shouldn't have thought that. It makes it sound like I don't care. And I do. I don't want to have to burry another friend. And I doubt they want to burry me, so that's why I'm packing all my stuff and leaving, for rehab.

I finish packing my bags and walk out of my room. No one's here. Roger went out with Mimi tonight, leaving me all alone. I walk into the kitchen and found a note pad. I quickly scribble down a note for Roger and left it on the table. I knew if I had to say those words to his face then I'd never leave.

I picked my bags up again and walked out of the loft and down the stairs as fast as I could. I'd called a taxi earlier and it was waiting there for me. I threw my stuff in the back and got in.

"Where to?" the driver asked. I told him and we left.

* * *

But there was one thing he missed. He missed Roger, standing out on Mimi's fire escape, staring down at him in interest.

* * *

Roger got back to the loft earlier than normal the next morning. He went to Mark's room first. The film maker wasn't there. He checked the entire loft and Mark couldn't be found anywhere.

He finally walked into the kitchen and found the note. He read it five times before it dropped from his hands and he fell to the floor in shock.

'_Dear Roger,_

_I'm leaving for that rehab center Collins tried. It's closer than the other ones I looked at. I'm going because I need too. I've been hiding it from you and every one for so long and about a month ago I'd almost killed myself. I don't want you or Mimi or Collins or anyone else to have to go threw my death. I'm leaving. I'm leaving because I cut myself. It seems realer now that it's said. Well, written, but you still know it and that makes it more real to every one. But that's not really all; lately I've started drinking, too, and when I drink I cut more and that month ago I'd cut deeper than normal and I was also drunk. I know I shouldn't be surprised by how easily a life is lost, but, this just brought the realization closer._

_I guess I'll write, when I can, so… Don't move or lose the loft. _

_Good bye,_

_Mark'_

It was written in Mark's, if seldom used, cursive.


	2. Two

**II**

He felt betrayed mostly, mainly because he felt that Mark going to rehab meant the film maker did, or couldn't, rely on him, which ever it was first. His feeling was with much justification; Roger himself had let Mark help _him_ through _his _withdrawals. It took trust, almost an unlimited amount; that he wouldn't be left in his pitiful state, in his pain, and the trust that Mark wouldn't mention what went on when he was down like that to anyone.

But Mark left for rehab, back to hide. He was always hiding, behind his camera, detached from life, a hypocrite to his own advice; not being numb to the world. And now he was hiding behind the white walls of the hospital.

That, to Roger, was Marks addiction. Hiding. Behind what ever he could find, behind his camera, behind the letter left, behind the rehab bleached white walls.

But, as Roger stood in the empty apartment, he realized how hiding may have felt, how it may have helped. …Or if it was hiding at all.

He'd once read that some people retracted themselves into their minds, as a defensive mechanism, from all sorts of things; from anything, from emotions, from sights, from sounds …even people.

Did Mark… did he really leave for more than just the cutting and the drinking? Did he leave because of… other things? Did he leave because he couldn't handle the pressure of his own mind? Is that why he cut,and drank, because the pressure of his mind, his hiding place, became too much?

Roger's head start to hurt. It was too much to think about at one time. He gave a small sigh as another question drifted into his mind, what was he going to tell the other bohemians? More importantly, how, how was he going to tell them that the only one of them that wasn't (outwardly) troubled and seemingly perfect, was a cutter, and disappeared to rehab?

It'd be impossible.

"Shit," he muttered as his head gave a painful throb. He had to stop thinking about things to much. Roger sighed as he flopped onto the couch, holding the note above his head and rereading it. "Marky-Mark Mark-Mark, what have you done?" he murmured before folding the note and stuffing it in his pocket. He then rolled over and tried to sleep. It'd been six, seven hours maybe, since he found the letter from his little cutter.

He'd worry about telling the other bohemians later.

(End Chapter) 

I know it's short, and a little late, but thanks. I kinda hurt my head to write though.

Thanks MersMers, cameragirl, TheSilverbow, and plastikkk handcuffs. Cause you all reviewed.


	3. Three

**III**

Roger lay on the couch; he'd just gotten off the phone with Collins, telling him to come over. Everyone else had already been called. The note Mark left was crumpled in his hand.

There was a knock at the door, Roger got up slowly, and walked to the door just as fast; it was Maureen. "Hey," he said, his voice sounding a bit scratchy from not talking for the last two days. Only to quickly say, 'Get over here,' had he really talked at all. He'd be busy thinking about the note, he'd probably read it around a hundred times since he'd found it, he'd also locked himself up in the loft.

"You look like shit, Rog," Maureen said easily.

He gave a small snort as Maureen walked in, and to the kitchen.

"So," She said, "Where's my Mark?"

"He's not yours," Roger said simply, "and besides, he's not here… anymore." He added quietly.

"Well, I dated him." Maureen said, not hearing anything after 'yours'.

"Where's Joanne?" Roger asked instead.

"Work," Maureen answered simply, as she walked back to the little living room area they had.

"Not any more," they both turned towards the door to see Collins enter after Joanne.

"Hey Pookie!" Maureen called as she swung her arms around Joanne and kissed her cheek.

"Yeah, yeah," Joanne answered as she pushed Maureen away and sat on the couch Roger had been on.

"So what's so urgent that you could barely hold a descent conversation?" Collins asked as he too sat on the couch.

"Mimi needs ta get here first," Roger said as he gazed out the window. He stared at the street for a couple more seconds before he walked to the kitchen to get something to drink.

* * *

"Is he ok?" Collins asked once the kitchen door closed. 

"I don't know, he doesn't look it does he?" Maureen whispered.

"Where's Mark by the way?" Joanne asked.

"Out, I guess," Maureen answered.

Silence rained for several moments before it was interrupted by another knock at the door. Collins got up to get it.

"Oh, hey," Mimi said, slightly surprised to see Collins at the door, "What's up?"

Collins' reply was, "Roger called us."

"How is Roger?" Mimi asked.

Collins shrugged, "Dunno."

"Oh, you're here, hi," Roger said as he walked back from the kitchen, a glass of water in hand.

"Hey baby," Mimi smiled as she gave Roger a quick kiss.

"Mimi's here now, so tell us, what's this all about?" Maureen asked as she sent a playful glare at Roger.

The musician walked to the window and stared for a little, he'd last seen Mark on that street, "Mark's gone." He said simply.

"Yeah, I noticed," Maureen said, mostly in sarcasm.

"No, you don't understand; Mark's _gone_," Roger restated, turning around.

Silence dominated.

"W-what do you mean?" Collins asked, a million and three horrid and morbid scenarios running through his head, all of them ending in some way like Angel's end, in a hospital bed.

"He left," Roger stated as he flopped down onto the floor, his legs crossed. He stared at the floor, playing with the frayed cuffs of his jeans.

"To _where_?" Joanne pushed.

"Rehab." He mumbled.

Mimi knelt down and placed a hand on Roger's shoulder, "Honny, we didn't hear that. Can you repeat it?"

"He…" Roger shut up.

"Roger," Collins said, his voice slightly warning.

Roger simply pulled the note out of his pocket; he had read it again when he was in the kitchen.

Mimi stared at it for a second before taking it, unfolding it and reading it. Her hands were shaking by the time she finished it. "Dear god," She mumbled.

"What is it?" Maureen asked as she got up. Mimi held the piece of paper out to the performer.

The letter was eventually passed around to all the bohemians in the loft.

"Also cheapest place to go to Mark," Collins whispered, referring to the line where Mark wrote that the rehab center he was at was closest.

Roger gave a numb nod from where he was still on the floor.

"What are we gonna do?" Mimi asked to every one.

"I didn't even know Mark could write in cursive." It was a habit of Maureen's to try to make a joke when things were down, but all she got were half-hearted glares, and not even a look form the dishearten Roger. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Silence controlled for several minutes before Roger got up, took the letter from Collins' lax hands and walked to his room, leaving the four people in the room with just a request to "Please leave."

* * *

'_Dear Roger,_

_Three day; I'm sorry._

_I know I should have told you earlier about me leaving. Probably caused hell for you and every one everyone else that I didn't, huh?_

…_I know you're not happy about it. Probably think I ran away for some other reason, but, I'm just doing this 'cause I want to be there for you. I don't want you to have to burry me. But, I don't want to burry you either._

_Maybe we should just make some pact that say's we'll die on the same day. Pleasant thought… almost. _

_It's weird here. Every one has some illness or other and here it seems I'm just wasting their time. Everyone else either has an eating disorder or is a user. (I don't mean to offend them though; it's just how it seems.) And here I cut and drink; it seems like nothing, compared to them._

_You know, I guess I thought what most people thought when they started using and stuff. I thought I could stop when ever I wanted, thought I was invincible, but I'm not. I'm human, like every one else. _

_It all really started when…… and every thing got out of control. I got addicted to the pain, and then to the alcohol. _

_I realized something once I got here; this could cause you to relapse. _Please _promise me you won't start using again. YOU DON'T NEED IT! And I don't want to see you as a patient here. I'd have to kill you then._

_That was a joke by the way, and not a very good one. _

_I'm sorry about all this. I'll write again when I can, ok?_

_Sincerely,_

_Mark'_

I read through the letter again, debating to send it or not. Debating it was rather stupid; I'd end up sending it anyway. The people here encourage writing to friends and family. Family, well, biological family, is out of the question. So that just really leaves Roger.

I don't know why, but, I'd rather just send this to Roger, than to any other bohemian. I know they know about me being here, but, Roger knows what it's like to go through withdrawal.

Mimi does, too, I know, but… I'd rather tell Roger.

In the end, I do end up folding the paper, placing it in the envelope, addressing it, and placing it in the 'out' box at the desk at the end of each hall.

End Chapter

Well, there ya have it. Chapter THREE!! Farthest I've every gotten in a fanfic yet! (Yay!)

Thanks to cameragirl cause you reviewed again! Yay! I'd give you a cookie or something, but, I don't know where you live to mail it to you! **:shakes head: **Sorry!


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